


Crooked Love

by muse_apollo



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: (brief) - Freeform, Backstory, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Obsession, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and then VERY resolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_apollo/pseuds/muse_apollo
Summary: Roman Sionis comes back to Gotham after eight years and struggles to establish a space for himself in his father's company.Victor Zsasz sees a pretty face in a club and becomes infatuated.(or: the untold backstory of Roman Sionis and his right hand man)
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 72
Kudos: 325





	1. Chapter 1

Roman stared out the window of the car his father had sent to to pick him up from the airport, the world tinged orange by the lenses of his sunglasses. It would be his first time back in Gotham -aside from the brief visits at Christmas- since he left for university, and he was equal parts anticipating and dreading his return. He’d taken two years off after high school to travel, returned home for a brief period before leaving again, followed by six years of schooling to get his MA in business had created a distance between himself and his family.

His father had been angry when last they spoke; it was a fair response, of course. Roman hadn’t exactly achieved the academic notoriety his father had desired of him. It wasn’t that he’d not been intelligent enough to succeed in his program, rather he simply had better things to do with his time. Certainly it wasn’t ideal that his father had had to bribe the school administration to get him into grad school, and further, to get him to pass, but there were reasons behind that. 

Sure, one could argue that, Roman had spent more time partying than working on his studies, and certainly that would be a valid argument, but he’d made connections in his time away at school, and at the end of the day, wasn’t that the important part? 

Well, it wasn’t according to his father, but still.

Regardless, he was quite hungover, and he was decidedly  _ not _ in the mood to face his parents’ ire upon his arrival back in Gotham. He poured himself a drink from the mini bar in the back of the car, when they were about twenty minutes out, four fingers of scotch, swallowing it quickly before pouring a second. He’d need a good buzz if he was going to deal with his father. Anyway, it numbed his headache, hair of the dog that bit you and all that. 

The car pulled up in front of his parents house, and Roman quickly swallowed down the rest of his drink, placing the glass back in the mini bar and popping a piece of mint gum in his mouth to cover the smell of the scotch. He didn’t need one more reason for his father to be angry. 

It had been some time since he’d been home, spending summers in another home his family owned in Boston while he attended Harvard. He looked at the wide, white brick face of the manor as they pulled into the roundabout, and felt none of the nostalgia he imagined he was supposed to feel.  He didn’t feel dread either, more a deep seated irritation at the idea of coming back to this place; coming back under his father’s thumb. Still, he was the heir to the company. His father would lecture him, and then he would forgive him, and then one day Roman would inherit Janus corp. He just had to make it through this upset, keep his head down for a little while longer, and then he would have everything he wanted. 

Roman stepped out of the car and into the sun, his jaw clenching for just a moment. No one was waiting for him when he arrived. It was impolite, really. If his father received such a welcome (or lack thereof), he’d be outraged.

He stretched, back stiff from the long drive, walking up the steps onto the front porch, the door was unlocked, and so Roman stepped through it and into the foyer. 

“Hello?” He called out as he entered the house. It echoed through the wide halls of the building, big and empty and full of things that broke too easily; just like it’d always been. 

A moment’s silence while his voice rang through the air, and then Geoffrey, the butler, appeared in the doorframe. “Master Roman, it’s good to see you back. Your father told me you would be home today, though he wasn’t certain what time you’d be arriving.” 

“Evidently.” Roman grit his teeth, already irritated. “Fetch my bags out of the trunk and bring them up to my room for me, won’t you Geoffrey?”

The butler nodded, bowing neatly at the waist before departing out the door. Roman smiled to himself, he couldn’t deny he’d missed that. He walked through the halls of his childhood home, not having been home in two years (he'd missed the last two Christmases) but little had changed. Sure, the furniture had been updated; the Sionis family was nothing if not fashionable, but it  _ felt  _ the same. Cold. Untouchable. These were the halls he’d run up and down as a child; broken vases earning him a stinging slap across the cheek.

His jaw twitched as he stepped into the dining room, staring up at the portrait of his family which hung at the head of the table. His father was the first face his eyes were drawn to; a commanding man, with dark hair and eyes, and a sharp jaw. At his side was his mother, dutiful as always, blonde hair tied back, blue eyes pale and watchful, her hand resting on the shoulder of the child in front of her. He’d been seven when this portrait had been commissioned, and he looked a sombre thing, skin pale, and eyes sunken and shadowed. He’d been sick at the time, not that his parents allowed him to disclose that part of his history to anyone.

He turned his gaze from the portrait, walking towards the liquor cabinet which sat beneath it, he poured himself another drink, a glass of his father’s most expensive scotch. It rolled warm down his throat, and he smiled, glancing up at the portrait of his father. “What?” He raised an eyebrow at the painting. “Look at you, looking at me… so much better than the rest of us.” He scoffed. “Too busy with work to even welcome your son back after eight fucking years.” He swallowed down the rest of his drink, leaving the empty glass on prominent display on the counter, before turning on one heel, moving in the direction of his own room. 

When he got there, Geoffrey was still hauling the last of his bags in, and he turned to face the butler, curious. “Is my father in?”

“Not at the moment, sir.” Geoffrey ducked his head just a bit. “He’s in a business meeting.”

“Of course he is.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Do you know when he’ll be back? He’d mentioned wanting to speak to me.”

“I’m not sure, sir. But I can alert you when he returns if you wish.”

Roman sighed. “Alright that’s fine, I suppose.” There was a moment of silence where Geoffrey still stood in his doorway. “Get out.”

“Yes, sorry sir, of course.” And then he left without another word. 

Roman stared around the room at the things he needed to unpack, then groaned, falling back on the bed, bringing the back of one gloved hand up to cover his eyes. 

It was miserable to be home. 

******

The conversation with his father went about as well as Roman had thought it would. It was long, with a lot of shouting, very little of which he actually listened to, but he bowed his head and took the brunt of it, all the while considering his retaliation. He apologized of course, though he felt no guilt, merely wanted to get it over with.

All the while he thought that he would go out after this lecture had finished, see how the Gotham nightlife had faired in his absence, after all, it had been eight years. He’d changed much since he’d left, it was time Gotham was introduced to the new and improved Roman Sionis.

So that was how he found himself in the club that night, the family that owned it -the Bertinelli’s- were friends of his parents, though their business was even less legitimate than the things which took place at Janus corp.

Still, business was business, and the place was nice, even if the decor wasn’t quite in line with his sensibilities. He found himself a drink, and a booth, and he waited, sipping it slowly as his eyes trailed across the room. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for a few people to approach him, news had gotten around quickly that the Sionis heir was back in Gotham.

He made conversation easily, Roman knew how to hold the attention of a room, eased himself back into his seat, his gaze travelling out across the lounge. At some point he caught the attention of the man who owned the club, an old friend of his father’s, who approached him, his expression halfway between a frown and a smile. “Roman Sionis, I barely recognized you all grown up like that.” He leaned in, patting Roman on the shoulder, and Roman grit his teeth at the uninvited contact. “You really do look just like your father did at your age.”

Roman narrowed his eyes just a bit at that. “So everyone keeps saying.”

“So, now you’re back from school, you planning on following in his footsteps?” 

Roman took a slow sip of his drink. “That’s the plan, yes.” 

“Well I’m glad.” He smiled at Roman, seeming almost genuine for a moment. “You always were a good kid, I doubt he could ask for a better successor.”

Roman smiled cooly at that. He wasn’t sure his father would agree, but of course, Sionis family matters had always been kept within the small circle of the family itself. “Thank you.”

“Well, I should be off.” One more firm, unwelcome squeeze to Roman’s shoulder. In his mind’s eye Roman saw himself breaking the man’s fingers. “It’s good to have you back.” 

“It’s good to be back.”

*****

There was someone else in the club that night, he was there most nights, sitting in the back corner, watching. Sometimes he would nurse a single drink, other times, he would simply sit. He had built himself a reputation, these past few years, become known as a man with a very specific skillset. As such, he would sit in the same corner, and he would wait, and people who were interested in that specific skillset would know where to find him. His name was Victor Zsasz, and over the past four years he’d earned himself the title of one of the most dangerous men in Gotham city. 

Tonight he nursed a drink, dark eyes sweeping across the room carefully. There was a newcomer this evening. He didn’t typically notice newcomers, they were all the same to him in the end, all trapped souls, trying to make the most of their miserable lives, all aching to be set free. He seldom noticed a newcomer, but he noticed this one. 

This one demanded noticing, the way he took up space, the way he moved his hands when he spoke, tipped his head back to laugh at all the correct points in conversation. It was a performance, certainly, but it was a good one.

The newcomer’s eyes met his from across the room for a moment, and Victor held his gaze, eyebrows twitching upwards just a bit. The stranger broke gaze first, pulled back into whatever conversation he had been having. 

Victor finished his drink then, leaving the glass on the table, he approached a woman who stood by the bar. He had seen her speaking to the newcomer earlier.

“Excuse me.”

She jumped a little when he spoke, looking nervous at the fact that he had chosen her to speak to. He was used to that, there was something about him that unnerved people. He didn’t mind it, in fact he found some enjoyment in the way they all watched him with wary eyes, as if afraid of what he’d do next. They should be afraid.

“Could you tell me the name of that man over there?”

“Oh, um.” She nodded, hand fluttering to fidget absently with her necklace. “You don’t know?”

A pause, he remained silent, hoping that was enough of an answer.

“That’s Roman Sionis, his father owns Janus corp?” 

Victor nodded. “Thanks.” He pulled his lips back from his teeth. He hadn’t quite mastered smiling, it seemed to unsettle people more than anything when he did. The woman nodded, ducking her head before darting off quickly into the crowd.

Sionis. He’d heard the name before, but never had much involvement with that particular family. He ordered another drink and returned to his booth in the corner, he continued to watch the man, and though their eyes did not meet again for the remainder of the evening, his mind was filled with thoughts of Roman Sionis long after he’d left for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long.... 
> 
> also small warning for (very brief) homophobic language,

Roman fell into a familiar pattern after that, going out most nights, enjoying the nightlife. He caused no small amount of trouble in his antics; but only to those who deserved it, of course. He was making connections, he told himself; drinking expensive gin and doing a line of coke off the marble counter of the club bathroom was simply a bonus to that. 

He was told, rather consistently, how much he looked like his father, and every time he bared his teeth in a smile, and every time he felt himself come one step closer to snapping at the comparison. He was not often violent, but there were times when he snapped, snarled at someone who said the wrong thing, flung a pillow from one of the club couches; poured a drink in someone’s lap. There were ways to enact his anger which drew attention to his displeasure, without taking it further than what was considered acceptable. He got away with it easily regardless, no one dared to question the heir to the Sionis family fortune.

He noticed quickly enough the man who watched him from across the bar night-after-night. He was certainly a lot to look at, an unpolished thing; with poorly bleached hair, and a scruff around his chin, who seemed to shuffle through a roster of three near identical rumpled bowling shirts. It was unnerving, the way those eyes always followed him, curious, calculating, thoughtful.

He never came closer than to watch him from across the room, never made any attempt to interact, and Roman never saw him outside of the club, but the man was always there and he was always watching. One day he bumped into the man on his way out of the bathroom, he started to swear. “Watch where you’re fucking going!” And then he glanced up, meeting glimmering dark eyes, and for just a moment, he froze.

The man smiled at him, his gaze slowly sweeping over Roman, taking him in. “Sorry about that.” His voice was soft, softer than Roman had expected (not that he’d put much thought into it, of course), and he felt a shudder run down his spine. 

“It’s fine, just be more careful next time.” 

“Yeah.” A smile, then he slipped past, and into the bathroom. 

*****

Two weeks went by without much event, Roman thought everything was going fine, until one day, he found himself being pulled into his father’s office. His father sat behind his desk, taking a moment to finish whatever it was he was doing, and Roman tapped his foot against the imported Persian rug. He hated to be kept waiting. 

Finally, his father looked up, meeting Roman’s eye with some distaste. “Ah good, we need to have a talk.” 

Roman’s jaw twitched just a bit at that. “Hello to you too. No how are you, since I’ve hardly seen you these past three days.”

His father sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing just a bit. “I’ve been working, Roman, I know it’s not a concept you’re particularly familiar with.”  Roman opened his mouth to say something in response, but his father carried on. “We need to talk about how you’ve been spending your time since you got back.”

“What about it?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been making connections.”

“Is that what you call it?” The curl of his lip was cold, violent. “Because from what I’ve heard you’ve been drinking and making an ass of yourself and generally pissing people off.” He paused. “You know I’m not just going to hand you this company on a silver platter, correct? You need to  _ earn _ it.” 

“I have fucking earned it.” The words came through gritted teeth, Roman’s gloved hands clenching at his sides. 

His father shook his head, standing and stepping out from behind his desk, leaning on the edge of it. “I’ve been too soft on you.” 

“Too soft? Really?”

“ _ Yes _ .” He snapped. “I’ve let you get away with too much. Spoiled you…” a pause. “And don’t think I haven’t heard about the things you were getting up to while away at school…” 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” There was a warning under Roman’s tone, he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. 

“Did you think I  _ wouldn’t  _ find out?” He scoffed. “Do you have any idea the shame I felt… my own son, a fucking fruit.” 

Roman froze at that, wincing as though he had just been struck. He took a breath, his entire body tense as a bowstring, ready to snap. “What I do,” he began after a breath, taking a step closer, “in my own time,” he took another step closer, eyes narrowed, hands balled into fists at his sides, “is none of your  _ fucking business _ .”

“It is if it gets around and tarnishes  _ my  _ family name and reputation.” 

“Your  _ reputation _ ?” That’s when Roman felt himself snap. “Fuck your fucking reputation! I’m your fucking son!”

“Then act like it.”

Roman’s vision went red, he grabbed the nearest thing to him -an antique vase- and hurled it, it shattered against his father’s desk, close to him but not quite hitting him. The shards exploded on the carpet. “Act like it? You want me to act like it? When have you ever once acted like a father in my life?” He grabbed something else, a book off the shelf behind him, this one his father sidestepped with ease. He threw three more books, his father’s face stayed blank, and cold, so Roman grabbed the shelf and toppled it to the floor.

“Are you quite finished?” His father was still watching him with cold, blank eyes; eyes that had never once looked on him with pride. 

Roman squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, face hot with shame and with rage. He nodded.

“Good. Get the hell out of my office.”

“With pleasure.” Roman turned on one heel, leaving the chaos of the room in his wake.

“And if you think you’ll see a single red dime from me after what you just pulled-”

“Fine!” Roman yelled back over one shoulder. “Write me out! See if I care! I don’t fucking  _ need _ you! I never have!”

Just before he slammed the door, he heard his father calling out. “You’ll come crawling back… just you wait.”

On his way out, Roman passed his mother, she stood, stiff and silent with her hands clasped in front of her, her blue eyes wide and teary, watching. Like a ghost in the corner of the room. “You just keep standing there, watching.” He spat. “It’s all you could ever do anyway.”

And then he stormed out the front door of the manor and into an unknown future. 

******

Four hours later, Roman was drunk, well, and truly gone at this point. He sat alone tonight, his mood coming off him in waves, seeming to drive people away from him. He was tense, and angry, and he gripped his glass just a little harder than he should, his jaw was clenched, his hand shook just a bit. All around him people laughed and talked, all around him people enjoyed their perfect little lives while his had just been destroyed by his own fucking father.

He needed some air. 

Roman finished his drink in one swallow, and then he stood. The room spun around him just a bit as he made his way out the door, into the alley behind the club. He slipped out the door, leaning back against the wall, his head tipped back. It smelled like fucking piss in this alley. 

Roman squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, trying to clear the red haze from behind his eyes. He wanted to scream. 

And then abruptly, he was being pinned against the brick wall by a hand to his throat. He gasped, his eyes flew open, he vaguely recognized the face of the man in front of him, contorted in rage as he was slammed back against the wall. Roman struggled, but he wasn’t strong enough to pry the iron grip from his throat. His vision started to blur, and he gasped, struggling. 

He felt like he was about to pass out and the only thought going through his head was that he would die in this piss-stinking fucking alley at the hands of some common fucking thug.

And then, abruptly, the hand was off his throat, and he gasped for air, hands resting on his thighs to keep himself vertical. He heard a scream, which cut off into a gurgle, looking up just in time to see the man who had just been holding him by his throat, drop to the ground, great gouts of blood streaming from his neck as he dropped. And there was a man standing over the body, blonde, and dirty, his eyes dark and blank as he stared down at the body for a moment, before turning his gaze back up to Roman.

He grinned, sharp and clever, and Roman recognized him as the man he’d seen watching him from across the club these past weeks. 

“What the fuck?” Roman raised his head. “What the hell just happened?”

“Someone tried to kill you, and I killed him first.” The man shrugged, he dug into the pocket of his pants with bloodstained hands, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one quickly.

“Yeah, I got that.” Roman grit his teeth. “Why?”

“Which part?”

“Both, preferably.”

“Well, that man tried to kill you because two weeks ago he spilt a drink on your shoes and you broke your glass off the side of his face.” He laughed. “And I’m assuming he chose tonight to do it since, with your family disowning you, you’re fair fucking game now.”

Roman’s shoulders tensed. “Who told you that?”

“You’ve been talking to yourself about it all night, obviously I wasn’t the only one listening. You really like the sound of your own voice, huh?” Roman sputtered just a bit at the insult. A pause, as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “Name’s Victor by the way, Victor Zsasz.” He holds out a hand, Roman eyed the blood on his skin with some distaste. When he didn’t shake it, Victor shrugged, wiping the bloody hands on his own slacks.

“I assume you know who I am?”

“Obviously.” A pause. “You got a little…” he wiped at his own cheek with a thumb. 

Roman followed the gesture, his white gloved hand coming away stained with blood. His lip curled in disgust. “Ew.”

Victor scoffed, leaning back against the brick wall, taking another slow pull off his cigarette. 

Roman was pretty well sobered up now, adrenaline having quickly worked through the alcohol that was fogging his brain and was more than a bit wary of the man beside him, who stood calm, and unphased by the presence of a rapidly cooling corpse at his feet. He fidgeted just for a moment, hand fluttering, before reaching out to wipe it on the other man’s sleeve. Zsasz said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you help me?”

“I saw that guy follow you out, and figured what he was planning, so I thought I’d come out here and help.”

“That’s not a why. You’ve been watching me. I’ve seen you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“You... _ interest _ me.” God this was like talking to a brick fucking wall.

“How _ exactly _ do I interest you?”

“Not sure yet.” He finished his cigarette, flicking it down onto the street. “We should get out of here, before someone sees this.” He kicked nonchalantly at the corpse as he spoke.

Roman nodded and then was abruptly struck by a realization. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”

Victor watched him for a moment, eyes shining almost unnervingly in the streetlights. “I’ve got a place about a block from here.” The corners of his mouth pulled up in the hint of a smile. “You can crash if you need to.”

“No offence, but I did just watch you kill a man, I’m not in a hurry to go home with you.”

“If I wanted you dead we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d simply be dead.” Well there wasn’t really any arguing with that. “But if you’d rather stay out in the dark and fend for yourself…”

“Fine.” Roman snapped. “But I won’t be sleeping on a couch.”

Together they made their way out of the alley, Roman stepping carefully over the corpse, conscious of where he placed his dress-shoes. It was nearly impossible to get blood out of suede so he hoped he’d managed to keep them clean. He followed close by Zsasz’ shoulder, through a few quick turns in alleys; behind them he heard shouts as the body was found, and he could swear he caught a glimpse of a smile on Victor’s lips as he moved up ahead of him.

Then he found himself being lead up a fire escape and in through a window. He eased himself through with some difficulty, his slacks a bit too tight to allow for optimal movement.

“Why not just use the door?” He asked, half to himself.

“This was the quicker way.”

Roman took a moment to take in the space around him, and found himself instantly struck by a deep seated nausea. It was a small apartment, and almost entirely undecorated save for the bare necessities of furniture. There was some clutter about, of course, fast food wrappers strewn about, alongside empty or half-empty bottles of liquor. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and Roman’s lip curled up at the stench of it. 

“You actually  _ live _ here?”

Zsasz just laughed at him. “To be fair, I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Are you ever?” He was genuinely curious. In the past weeks, he had seen the man alone, save a few brief interactions marked by monetary exchange.

“Not generally.”

There was a long moment in which neither man was sure what to say, both watched the other a bit warily, then Zsasz broke it. 

“There’s something I’ve gotta do.”

“What’s that?”

Another scoff. “Might upset your delicate sensibilities.”

Roman narrowed his eyes at that. “I’m not as delicate as I let on.”

The smile that split Zsasz’ face was wholly unnerving. “I was so hoping you would say that.”

And then he paused stepping over to a table and picking up a small knife, the blade was curved, and sharp, and glinted beneath the dim ceiling lights. Roman watched with interest, maintaining a safe distance, as the hand not holding the blade goes to the buttons of his own shirt, pulling the fabric aside to reveal his bare chest. 

Roman's breath hitched a little at what he saw there, scars marking the flesh, some neat and straight, others jagged and rough, all raised in a way that suggested the cuts had been made with the intention to mark.

His fingers itched with the compulsion to touch, and he found himself stepping forward without realizing, stopping when he noticed the way Zsasz tensed, something animal behind his eyes warning Roman away. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks to stop from fidgeting. 

He twirled the knife between his fingers for a moment, before bringing it to his skin. The movement was slow, methodical as he opened the skin, blood dripping down from the cut. Roman was transfixed, watching as he wiped the blade with his thumb before sucking it between his teeth. Roman followed the other man’s mouth with his eyes, something stirring in his chest. The image really should repulse him.

“You do that every time you kill someone?”

“Yes.”

Roman nodded, his mind suddenly and intensely focused on the way that the scar represented a physical mark of himself on the other man’s skin, he was startled by the possessiveness that flared in his chest at the notion. “How many so far?”

“That was number thirteen.” He chuckled. 

“Something funny?”

“Unlucky number is all.” 

Roman’s brow furrowed a bit deeper at that. “Does it feel unlucky?” 

“No.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them for a long moment, neither man sure what to say. “I’m fucking exhausted.” Roman said finally because he needed to fill the air. 

“You can take the bed.” A pause, then, “there’s a lock on the inside of the door, if that’ll make you feel better.” 

It was strangely thoughtful, though some part of his brain told him that the sense of security the lock would provide was a false one. Still it was enough. He regretted now not having brought anything with him when he stormed out of the house, but at the time, it had felt good.

The bedroom was more barren than the living room had been, but the air in here smelled just as stale. There was garbage in here too, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table. He stared at it for a moment, at the stale flannel sheets that stank of cigarettes and he sighed, stripping down to his boxers before climbing into the bed, pulling the blanket over the head.

He lay awake for a long time before he fell asleep.

*****

Roman woke early the next morning, he wasn’t sure he’d really slept all that much to begin with. He redressed into his clothes from the previous day, and he hated it, but as it stood, he didn’t have a better option. His dress-shirt was rumpled, and he smoothed his hands down his front, lip curling with displeasure. 

He crossed the room then, easing open the door and stepping out of the room. The living room was empty but he could hear the sounds of water running in the other room, and assumed that to mean that his host was in the shower… that is, if he showered at all. It was hard to tell by the look of him.

His stomach growled, and he glanced in the direction of the kitchen. It was, in a word, abominable, and the very thought of walking into that space made Roman’s skin crawl. He caught something moving out of the corner of his eye, and after a moment realized it was a roach. He couldn’t stop the small shriek that fell from his lips as he leapt back, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in disgust. 

The door to the bathroom opened a moment later, and Zsasz stepped out, his hair was wet, and stuck up oddly because of it and his shirt -the same one he’d been wearing last night, was still undone. He looked blankly at Roman. “What?”

Roman turned, taking a breath, blowing it sharply out of his nose, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. “You’re…  _ infested _ .”

Zsasz just shrugged, as though the information held little meaning for him. He turned away then, picking up a pack of cigarettes from where it sat on the bedside table and lighting one. 

“Do you have to do that  _ inside _ ?” Roman growled. “It’s already  _ rank _ in here.” 

Zsasz looked up at him, and there was something in his dark eyes that told Roman he’d pressed a bit too far. Victor walked towards him, and kept walking and Roman found himself very quickly stepping back until abruptly, he hit the wall. They didn’t touch, but the space between them was small, and Roman could smell the cheap soap Zsasz had used to clean the blood off of his skin.

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, and Zsasz laughed, a small, cold chuckle. His eyes were watching Roman in a way that made his heart race. “Do you know what happened to the last person who told me to put out a cigarette when I didn’t want to?”

Roman swallowed. “No, but I assume you’re going to tell me.”

Zsasz nodded. “I did put it out. In his eye.” A pause, seemingly to let the words sink in. “Now, I’m not going to do that, because for whatever reason, I like you, Mr. Sionis. And your pretty blue eyes. But this is my house, so don’t push it.”

Roman fumbled for just a moment before finding a leg to stand on. “Aw, you think they’re pretty? That’s sweet.” 

The corners of Victor’s mouth turned up just a bit as he stepped back, giving Roman space to push off the wall. He felt relief wash over him at the distance between them. 

“I have a proposition for you.”

Victor said nothing, leaning back against the couch, watching him curiously as he smoked his cigarette. There was a deep rip in the side of the couch next to where his hand rested, some of the stuffing had started to fall out. Roman pointedly avoided looking at it. 

“The way I see it…” he began carefully, “we both need something. I’m obviously in need of some protection at the moment, and by the look of it,” he gestured around the apartment at this point, “you could use some more steady employment than what you have currently.” 

“You offering me a job?”

“It’s not much at the moment, I know, but trust me,” and here he smiled, “when I take this city back, and I  _ will _ take it back, it’ll be a hell of a lot better than what you have right now.”

Zsasz nodded, seeming to mull it over.

“So what do you say?”

He smiled, walking over to put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table before turning back to Roman. “Fuck it.” He shrugged, holding out a hand. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

This time, his hand was not covered in blood, and this time Roman shook it. His grip was firm, steady. Their eyes met over the handshake, not a deal with the devil, but an arrangement struck between two.

“So where do we start,  _ boss _ ?”

Roman just grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god I am having such a ridiculous amount of fun writing these two motherfuckers


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired and I need to be doing homework but I have worms in my brain and it's these two bastard men hnnnnghghghgh

His first step was to find something to wear. Perhaps that didn’t seem the most logical stepping stone, but he simply couldn’t go striking out on his own and taking over the city with only one suit. He had set some money aside over the years, ferreted away in bank accounts not connected to his father’s, he had considered them parting ways a possible eventuality, though he'd thought he had a bit more time. That, coupled with the credit cards he currently had to his name, and Roman had a little over fifteen thousand dollars to work with. 

It wasn’t as much as he would have liked, but it was enough to get by, at least for the moment. He only wished he’d paid a little more attention during his budgeting classes. 

He acquired a few new suits, and hoped that he would be able to send for the ones which still remained in his father’s home. He was limited in his current wardrobe, and that would hardly help with his reputation. The suits he did buy weren’t his best of course… he couldn’t afford anything bespoke and had to purchase them off the rack. The mere notion sent a shiver down his spine, but he accepted it; hardship built character, he would bounce back from this too. 

The next step was to looked for somewhere to stay. He simply could not stay in the filthy space Victor Zsasz called home. In fact, if Roman had his way that whole place would be burnt to the ground.

For the moment, he stayed in a hotel, it was a modest room, he’d wanted the penthouse, but he had to keep an eye on his money for the moment, so he’d settled for a smaller, three room suite. It could be worse, he tried to remind himself, as he struggled to fall asleep on the synthetic sheets. 

His plan began simply enough. The first step was not allowing himself to be dismissed. He did this merely by continuing to make himself visible. He continued to return to the club night after night, some concealer on his neck to cover the bruises left behind by the attempt made on his life. The only difference was that now he had Zsasz with him, and that certainly turned some heads. 

Zsasz, who lingered near his shoulder, his eyes dark and watchful; carefully assessing each person who approached Roman. He looked good at his shoulder, Roman had to admit, blank faced, and scarred. What could be more intimidating than that? Really, Victor Zsasz was quickly becoming one of the best accessories in Roman’s collection.

Sometimes, he would invite Zsasz to sit with him, and Zsasz would do so willingly, if not gleefully; silent as he watched the room, watched the people Roman spoke to. The only sounds which left him were affirmations of Roman’s own remarks, or appropriately timed laughs at his jokes. But he didn’t need to say anything, his mere presence was a message in itself. 

Roman absolutely adored the way his conversation partners would glance nervously in Zsasz' direction, ever wary of him.

No one else tried to kill him after that. 

Still, things weren’t going quite according to plan. People who had once listened to him with intent, and praised him for his ability, now watched him with expressions ranging from dismissal, to pity, to disdain, as he told them about his mutual falling out with his family, asking them for support in his endeavor to strike out on his own. But again and again he found himself faced by rejection, it came in different forms, sometimes it was apologetic, other’s an ‘I’ll think about it’ that sounded about as far from genuine as it could get.

Regardless of its form, rejection set his teeth on edge, and each time Roman found himself seething with rage. There was an anger in the pit of his gut which grew larger with each passing day. These stupid fucks didn’t know what they were missing, they had no idea what he was capable of. He was Roman fucking Sionis, he didn’t need to take this shit.

One night, after another such conversation had set him on edge, Zsasz leaned close, speaking quietly to him in that slow, soft voice of his. “They don’t respect you.”

Roman tensed, his head snapping to the side, eyes narrowing at the other man. “What?”

“They don’t see you for what you are, too caught up on the image of you as a boy living in his father’s shadow.”

“That’s not what I am.” His voice was a low growl, a warning.

Zsasz smiled. “ _ I _ know that. It’s the rest of them, they’re too  _ stupid _ to see you.” A pause, his voice dropping just a little lower, so Roman had to lean close to hear. “You know what you need to do, don’t you?” 

“What?”

“You want them to respect you, you have to make them _afraid_ of you. Show them what you're capable of.” A throaty chuckle. “Do something that’ll really get their attention.” 

Roman pulled back just a bit, meeting Zsasz’ eyes, his expression was curious, but interested. “What are you suggesting?”

Zsasz shook his head, taking another slow sip of his drink before setting it firmly down on the table, he slouched, draping one arm over the back of the bench seat. “You’re the brains of this, I’m just here to help you bring it about.” His dark eyes glittered as they met Roman’s, something entirely chaotic lurking just behind his gaze. “What do you  _ want _ to do?”

Roman paused at that, he met the other man’s gaze for a long time, reading his face. When he was satisfied with what he found there, he smiled. “Oh, Mr. Zsasz, I’ve just had a  _ wonderful  _ idea.” 

*****

Three weeks later, the JanusCorp factory caught fire. It would later be ruled as an accident in the official report, one written by police officers thoroughly bribed by the very man whose property had been destroyed. It was bad for business to be seen as a target, and worse for reputation to let family matters become public affairs, the whole thing would be quickly and cleanly swept under the rug, at least in any official sense. The explosion itself was not a massive blow, after all the insurance would certainly cover it, but the financial impact was not the only impact one should be concerned about.

Roman wished he could have seen the explosion himself, but had to settle for watching the news coverage of the ensuing fires instead. He had somewhere more important to be in that time.

No, when the bomb went off, Roman Sionis, with the assistance of one Victor Zsasz, was quite preoccupied breaking into his -currently empty- ancestral home. He’d known it would be empty because every year at the same time, his family went on the same vacation. It was woven into his father’s busy work schedule, ingrained and recurring, something that simply could not be rescheduled regardless of other goings on. 

It didn’t surprise him that his parting from his family had done nothing to upset their vacation plans. 

What shocked him, upon entry into the home however, was that they hadn’t even bothered to change the alarm code. His jaw clenched at that. “So little fucking faith in me, that you didn’t think I’d retaliate.” He growled to himself. “The man has no idea what I’m capable of, never bothered to fucking look.”

Victor grinned at him, a wide, feral thing. “Then show him.”

*****

It was something to behold, Victor noted quietly to himself, to see Roman as he was in this moment. He was utterly unhinged as he tore through the interior of the Sionis household, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. 

He laughed as he tore the family portrait down from the wall in the dining room, slashing it to pieces with the knife Victor had pressed into his palm. Really  _ laughed _ . Head thrown back, eyes wild, his normally perfectly coiffed hair falling wildly into his face, and suddenly Victor was so very glad that he hadn’t killed him.

He had thought about it, certainly. At the beginning, when Roman had first caught his eye, that had been one of the thoughts that drifted through his mind, and again later. That night when Roman had slept in his house, Victor had lay awake for a long time, thinking about slicing the man’s throat and watching the light fade out of his eyes. It would have been so easy, to put an end to whatever obsession it was that had taken hold of him from the moment he’d laid eyes on the other man. But he hadn’t, and at first, he wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it simply boiled down to the fact that Roman didn’t seem to be afraid of him; cautious yes, but there was no fear there. 

That had perplexed Victor, intrigued him even.

Now though, now Roman turned to him with a grin on his face and a knife in his hand, his eyes shining like the broken glass that littered the ground around him, and Victor was so very, very glad that he hadn’t killed him. Right now, Roman Sionis was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“I always fucking hated that thing, you know.” He reached into the liquor cabinet through the shattered glass doors, pulling out a bottle of what looked to be rather expensive scotch and popping the cork, drinking it directly from the bottle. “His smug fucking face looking down on me over dinner, judging, as if he had the right. Well, it’s my turn now.”

It took Victor a moment to realize that he had stopped breathing. He swallowed. “It sure is, boss.”

“Come on then.” Roman grinned at him, handing him the bottle. “We’re not finished here yet.”

Victor took a long swallow, hardly noticing the burn of the liquor in his throat as he followed after Roman, some part of him realizing he couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to. 

*****

It was close to four in the morning that found both of them back in Roman’s hotel room, Roman had invited Zsasz, it seemed only fair, there was so much to celebrate. Now he was laying on his back on the couch, his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. His skin was buzzing, with alcohol, and adrenaline, and a mix of other things, but he felt content for a moment. 

Roman was seldom content, there was always something that could be better than it was, always something more that he wanted just out of his reach, but for the moment, he felt perfectly comfortable. 

Then a breeze came in through the open balcony door, and he shivered. He sat up then, brow furrowed, walking to shut the door. Zsasz had left it open when he’d stepped out, letting the cold air in. He leaned out the door, intending to scold the other man for his actions. Then he saw him, and for just a moment, Roman forgot what he was so irritated about.

Zsasz was standing under the balcony light, leaning back against the wall, his eyes were closed, his head tipped back, exposing the length of his neck as he took a slow pull off the joint he was smoking, holding it in for a moment before blowing out a steady stream of smoke. 

_ Oh. _ Roman thought, a realization which was immediately followed up by,  _ that makes sense. _

He crossed the balcony, nearly silent in slippered feet, and Zsasz cracked one eye open, glancing sideways at him. Roman said nothing, merely reached out, taking the joint from between the other man’s lips, and taking a long pull. Zsasz watched him, but said nothing. Always just watching. 

Roman blew out the smoke, leaning closer as he handed the joint back. They were only a few inches apart, close enough that he could smell the whiskey on Victor's breath. Roman paused, carefully tracking the other man’s expression before narrowing his eyes. “You left the door open, and let all the fucking cold air in.” A pause. “Do that again and I’ll fucking skin you alive.” 

Victor actually  _ smiled _ in response to the threat. “Sorry about that.”

Roman pulled back then, stepping towards the door back into the hotel room. “I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch if you want to. Just don’t turn the light on, if you wake me up, you’ll be limping back across town to your own apartment, mark my words.” 

Victor chuckled, but seemed to acknowledge the seriousness of the threat. “Night, boss.” 

Roman said nothing as he closed the balcony door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am realizing that this thing is going to get a lot longer than I meant it too..... I am absolutely out of control.....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got.... away from me a little bit....

The effect of their little outburst was immediately apparent, with rumours spreading through the Gotham underground like wildfire. It was simple and concise, a strategic kind of chaos which had the immediate result of drawing attention onto him. The attention was primarily positive, people generally started to regard him with a greater degree of intent… even with interest. 

Some of the people who had previously rejected his business propositions came back, changing their minds, asking if he was still interested in any kind of investment. He had plans to open up his own club, and more than a few people took interest in helping. 

They also tended to seem a fair bit more nervous than they had in previous interactions. He liked that. 

One day, someone did offer a challenge, an underhanded comment about how Roman was too young and too naive to be making his way on his own, a subtle suggestion that it would be better if Roman worked for him, at least to start out.  He left the conversation, with a snide smile and a ‘think about it’, and Roman felt something cold and angry twist in his gut. He waited, patiently, a false smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, falling away as soon as the other man was gone from his field of vision. 

Immediately he turned to Victor, his eyes narrowed, speaking close to the other man’s ear. “We need to do something about that.”

Victor was almost gleeful as he met Roman’s gaze. “My thoughts exactly, boss.” A pause as he watched Roman, head cocked to one side. “What do you suggest?” 

Roman sat back, sipped his drink, and was struck abruptly by a truly wonderful and terrible idea. “Say, do you have any experience with flaying?” 

*****

Roman had always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, so of course, it had been an important part of establishing himself that he came up with a signature move. Something people would see and immediately associate with him, something… over-the-top, but not too macabre. 

And of course, he’d always been fond of masks. 

Now he stood back, and he watched Victor work, he watched as the man gleefully sliced through skin, and he was struck for a moment by just what manner of horrible things Victor would willingly do were Roman to ask him.

“You know, I think I like that.” Roman said, nonchalantly, the faceless man had yet to stop screaming. “It has a good flare to it, don’t you think?” 

Victor was laughing as he looked up at him, face split with a grin. “Yeah, boss, I’d say it uh- really makes a fuckin’ statement.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” He waved a hand dismissively. “No, never mind, it’s perfect.”

Victor looked up at him, holding up the now-removed face. “What should I do with this?”

“Ew.” Roman recoiled. “Throw it away, I don’t want it.” Victor just shrugged and dropped it onto the warehouse floor. 

He was still looking at Roman with that broad grin, and there was blood spayed across his face, and he looked absolutely monstrous to behold. Roman felt admiration stir in his chest, coupled with a deep seated possessive instinct.  The moment was broken when the faceless man, no longing screaming, decided to let out a deep gurgling sound. Roman curled his lip in distaste. “Do you think he’s dead yet?”

“Hard to tell.” 

“Hmm.” A pause. “I can trust you to clean up here, yes?” 

Victor nodded, he had leaned close to the faceless man, and now he squinted, as if trying to figure out if he was actually dead. Roman left him to it. 

“Good.” He turned on one well-polished heel and exited the warehouse. 

*****

Roman didn’t become aware of how much of a problem his possessiveness of Victor had become until someone asked to 'borrow him'. He had tensed at the words almost immediately, his eyes narrowing across the table. It made sense, of course, the man was asking Roman because Roman had pretty solidly staked a claim where Victor Zsasz was concerned, still something about the very audacity of the question had him seething. 

“I’m sorry?”

The man seemed to notice the negative reaction on Roman’s part, and recoiled just a bit.  “I just meant for a brief period of time, I could use the assistance of someone with his... skillset.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, across the room Victor glanced at him from where he’d gone to get himself another drink, it was clear he could sense Roman’s irritation despite not being close enough to hear the conversation at hand. Roman turned his gaze back to the man across from him. “Sorry, but Zsasz doesn’t work for anyone other than me, you’ll have to find someone else, ‘kay?” 

The man nodded, seeming to realize his errors. “Right, sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Of course you didn’t.” He was being snippier than was strictly necessary, but he was feeling really fucking irritated.

The man seemed to take the hint, removing himself politely from the conversation. It was at that moment that Victor drifted back across the room, slipping into the booth seat, at Roman’s side, his eyes dark and curious. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Roman clenched his jaw. “Just people being fucking idiots.” He watched Victor for a long moment, formulating a question in his mind.

“Something wrong?” Victor asked, when Roman has been staring at him in silence for some time.

Roman smiled then, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he spoke again. “You’d never betray me, would you? Never take an offer from someone else?”

Victor watched him for a long moment, his head cocked to one side. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

The response startled a laugh out of Roman, and he grinned.

“But seriously, I got everything I need right here, I’m not going anywhere, boss.”

“ _ Good _ .” Roman clapped a hand onto Victor’s shoulder, offering a firm squeeze before he pulled away. He swore he felt Victor lean into the touch just a bit. “And Zsasz?”

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t deal well with people who break their promises.” 

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

*****

It was nearly two months later, the night at which they finally opened the club, a successful pulling of profits from the first evening, and he’d invited Victor into his apartment to celebrate. Victor had been crawling out of his skin all night, the people had been too much for him tonight. That, and the way Roman looked tonight, he was wearing a green suede jacket over a fitted white dress-shirt, the top two buttons undone to expose just a bit of his chest.

Sitting beside him, watching him talk, and flirt, and command the attention of the room, watching him smile and take up space had every inch of Victor’s skin had aching to reach out and touch him, to slide just a little closer so their shoulders could brush.

So of course, when Roman had asked him to have a celebratory drink with him, Victor had agreed (not that he ever said no). Roman had poured them each a glass of the very expensive scotch that he’d been holding onto. He’d stolen it from his parents home the night they’d broken in, it was petty, but there was some satisfaction to it.

Victor had never fully grasped the concept of drinking for taste, there was no purpose to alcohol for him other than to pull him out of his own head, so naturally, he finished his glass in one swallow, causing Roman to scoff at him in irritation.

“You’re supposed to sip it, you know. Savour it.” 

Victor couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Self-restraint has never exactly been my strong suit.”

“We’ll work on that.” Roman refilled his glass, not breaking eye contact. “Try again, slower this time.”

This was their game, it seemed, and it was one Victor had come to better understand in their month’s of knowing each other. Sometimes it felt ridiculous, but it was easier to play along, giving Roman what he wanted always yielded the best results. So he took a slow sip, and he listened while Roman spewed a bunch of absolute bullshit about the notes and the legs and whatever the fuck else, even though none of it meant shit to him.

Mostly he was aware of the fact that Roman was standing very close to him, and was watching him with his lips curled in a pleased smile, and he’d taken off his suit jacket but he was still wearing that ridiculously well-fitted fucking dress shirt.

“Do you like it?”

It tasted like alcohol, but that wasn’t what Roman wanted to hear. “Yes.”

Roman laughed at him. “That’s no different to you from that dirt-cheap department store shit you have in your apartment, huh?” He grinned. “Don’t try and deny it either. I can see it on your face.” He clapped a hand on Victor’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing a small circle there. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, had taken them off when they'd come upstairs, and Victor was distinctly aware of the heat of the other man’s hand through the thin fabric of his shirt sleeve. “That’s alright, we can work on your taste.” 

Victor wasn’t sure how to respond, so he took another short sip of his drink, and watched Roman carefully. Roman’s hand dropped away from his shoulder, pausing before catching the collar of Victor’s shirt, feeling the material between his fingers. 

“We should take you shopping, now I have a little more to spare.” His reaction must have shown on his face, because Roman laughed. “Oh, don’t look so scared, I’m not gonna buy you anything you don’t like. We’ll stick to what suits you, it’ll be fun. What do you say?”

“Yeah, okay.” He had no idea what the fuck else he was supposed to say, and he was pretty sure his brain had shut off with Roman standing this close to him.

“Good.” His thumb brushed against the bare skin of Victor’s collarbone for just half a second, and Victor felt himself tense just a bit at the touch.

Then just like that, Roman had pulled away, crossing the room to recline on the chaise lounge, his gaze turning to Victor as he took another slow sip of his drink. “You can sit, you know.” He patted the cushion beside him. 

It wasn’t really a question but an order, and so Victor sat, perched on the edge of the seat, suddenly very unsure of what to do next. His hands itched to touch, and so he clenched his glass a little harder. He’d learned over the course of the last year or so how to navigate the window of physical contact with Roman. Touch was something that Roman himself  _ must  _ initiate. The wrong touch, unprompted, at the wrong time in or in the wrong way could cause an explosive reaction; Victor had seen it happen enough times. It was because of this that Victor had developed the habit of keeping his hands in his pockets or held firmly behind his back. He wasn’t always sure he could control himself.

“Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Zsasz?” 

Victor swallowed. “Sure boss.”

Roman looked pleased at that, took another slow sip of his drink, finishing it before placing the empty glass on the table. “I’ve never been very good at self-control either. See, when I see something I want, something I  _ really _ want, well, I can’t help myself, I need to have it. Do you know what I mean?” 

“I think so.”

“Good. Finish your drink.” Victor did, gladly, swallowing the rest down before placing the empty glass on the table. When he turned back, Roman was right there, inches from him. Victor didn’t flinch, not even when Roman’s hand caught his chin, holding him firmly in place. “Does that make it a little more clear?” 

Victor nodded slowly, and Roman’s thumb slid over his lower lip, Victor parted his lips, allowing Roman to slip the thumb into his mouth, hooking it on the back of his teeth. 

“God, you’ve been driving me fucking crazy you know that?” Roman leaned close speaking right into his ear. “Hard to get any work done when you’re always right there, out of the corner of my eye. So fucking distracting. Do you know how bad I've wanted you?”

Victor felt like a live wire, his skin buzzing with the urge to touch, to push Roman back into the sofa and pin him there, to kiss him until he was a breathless whining mess underneath Victor. And Roman was watching him like he’d let him. He opened his mouth to reply to the question but Roman cut him off.

"It was rhetorical." He dropped his hand away from Victor's face, now it rested on his thigh, about two inches above his knee. “What would you say if I asked you to stay the night?”

“Yes.” There was not a moment of hesitation in his tone, and Roman absolutely beamed in response. 

He stood then, and Victor’s eyes followed him curiously as he crossed the room. 

“Are you coming?” Roman watched him over one shoulder. 

Victor stood then, following him into the other room.

He almost immediately found himself pressed back against the doorframe, with Roman’s hands roaming over his chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt, nails biting into his skin just a little. He leaned into Victor’s neck, teeth catching on the spot where his jaw and neck met and Victor moaned, tipping his head back just a bit.

His hands were still balled into fists in his pockets.

Roman pulled back looking more than a little irritated. “You can touch me, you know. I’m not gonna fucking break.”

“I know.”

“I’ll tell you if you do something wrong,” Roman caught one of Victor’s wrists, placing the other man’s hand on his hip. “Okay?” He grabbed Victor’s other hand and placed it on the back of her neck, his touch was firm, commanding. 

“Okay.” That was the last straw for Victor, the last bit of restraint he had leaving him, and he gripped the back of Roman’s neck, pulling him forwards. Their lips crashed together and Roman hummed in approval, his teeth sinking into Victor’s lower lip. 

“See?” He pulled back, his hands returning to working at the buttons of Victor’s shirt. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Victor pulled him back and kissed him again, harder this time, the hand on the back of Roman’s neck sliding up into his hair. He tugged lightly and Roman groaned softly in encouragement, one of his legs pressing up between Victor’s, putting pressure on his groin. “You can pull it harder than that.” He growled, and Victor did. 

The sound that fell from Roman’s lips was borderline ridiculous, a high kind of whine, his head tipping back following the tug of Victor’s hand. Victor should have realized he’d be noisy, of course he fucking would, Roman Sionis never did anything in half measures. 

Victor dropped his head down to kiss at Roman’s neck, sucking at the spot of exposed skin right behind his ear. Roman’s nails bit abruptly into the back of his neck at that, and Victor paused. 

“No marks where they can be seen.”

Victor pulled back, meeting his gaze, and nodded. “Alright.” 

“Good.” Roman grabbed his collar, pulling him into another kiss. He smiled then, their lips still brushing as he spoke. “You keep doing what I tell you to and this is gonna go just fucking fine.” He walked backwards, still holding Victor’s collar, pulling him across the room.  When they were closer to the bed, he switched their position, turning Victor around and placing a firm hand on his chest, pressing him back to sit on the edge of the mattress. Victor sat, looking up at Roman, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Roman started undoing his own shirt, never one breaking eye contact. Victor moved to do the same.

“No.” Roman said, as he finished stripping off his own shirt. “I want to do it.” 

Victor grinned at him, his gaze sweeping over the bare extent of Roman’s torso, he was thin, but toned, a dark patch of hair curling over his chest. He felt emboldened then. “Then come over here.” He worried for a moment that the urge to take control had been the wrong one, but Roman merely smiled coyly at him. He stripped off his slacks, naked except a pair of black silk boxers, before walking forwards and moving to straddle Victor’s lap. He smiled down at him, grabbing Victor’s hands and placing them on his own hips before shoving at Victor’s chest again, pushing him to lay back. Victor went willingly, and Roman hovered over him, leaning down to open the buttons on Victor’s shirt.

His eyes trailed hungrily over each newly exposed patch of skin until he had fully opened Victor’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. Then he dropped his hands to touch, dragging his nails across the skin. He slid his hand up to the spot just below Victor’s collarbone, seeming to seek one scar in specific, smiling when he found it. 

“This one.” He ran his thumb almost reverently over the raised skin there. “The one from that first night. The first time you killed for me.”

“You like it?”

“I fucking love it.” He leaned down, kissing the skin there, his lips moved slowly over the expanse of Victor’s chest, biting and sucking bruises into his skin. Victor moaned, low in the back of his throat, his hand tangling in Roman’s hair, tugging at it as Roman bit down hard on his chest. 

“Fuck.” Victor groaned, as Roman pressed his weight back, rolling their hips together. 

“That was kind of the idea, yeah.” Roman kissed him again, tugging Victor’s bottom lip between his teeth before he sat back, his hands moving to Victor’s belt, making quick work of it. He slid a hand down the front of Victor’s pants then, stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers. “Sound good to you?”

“ _ God _ , fuck, yeah, okay.” 

It took some fumbling to strip away Victor’s pants and boxers, but now Roman straddled him in nothing but silk boxers. It was unfair that Roman was still somewhat clothed while Victor was completely naked, but it was hard to care with the smooth fabric rubbing against his bare cock. He could not remember the last time he'd been this fucking hard. Victor moved to sit up, but Roman’s hand came to rest on his throat. “Stay.” He growled, and Victor lay back, his only movement to grip Roman’s hips, holding them firmly for a moment before moving further, grabbing hold of his ass.

Roman groaned at the contact, grinding his hips down against Victor. Both men groaned in tandem, and Victor dug his fingers into Roman’s flesh just a little harder. Roman pressed three fingers to Victor’s lips. “Open.”

Victor sucked the fingers into his mouth, meeting Roman’s gaze as he did so. When he was satisfied, Roman pulled his hand away, reaching down and wrapping it around Victor’s cock. He stroked it, slow, teasing strokes up and down the length of him, leaning in to kiss down the side of Victor’s neck as he did. 

“I want you to fuck me.” He growled, voice low, lips brushed over Victor’s ear. “Can you do that for me, Mr. Zsasz?”

“Yeah.” Victor gasped. “Fuck yeah.”

Roman smiled down at him, his eyes pleased and glowing. “Good boy.” And then he was pulling back, digging in the bedside table drawer, returning with a tube of lube and a condom. He finally - _ finally _ \- stripped off his boxers, and Victor groaned at the sight of him. 

Roman straddled him again, pouring lube onto his own hand. He hovered over Victor, opening himself with his fingers while maintaining eye contact, eyes fluttering just a bit, mouth falling open as he chased his pleasure.

It wasn’t long before he was ready, slipping the condom onto Victor, adding a bit more lube before sinking down onto him. Both men moaned in tandem as Victor slid into him, taking a moment to adjust. Roman leaned close, kissing Victor as he started rolling his, slow at first. “You feel so fucking good.”

“So do you.” Victor groaned, his hands coming to grip Roman’s hips. They picked up the pace quickly after that, falling into a steady rhythm, Roman riding him hard and fast, nails digging into Victor’s shoulders and his chest as he did. Once Roman slowed, pausing for a moment, and Victor surged upwards on impulse, flipping their position to press Roman down into the mattress.

Roman gasped, and for a moment, Victor worried he had done the wrong thing, but then Roman just grinned up at him, a leg hooking up around his hips, pulling him closer. Victor started to thrust into him again, slow first. Then Roman dug his nails into Victor’s back, a challenge in his eyes. “You can fuck me a lot harder than that.”

Victor gave him exactly what he wanted, pressing in hard and fast. Roman tightened his legs around Victor’s waist, moaning beneath him, his nails clawing at Victor’s back, hard enough to leave trails of burst blood vessels beneath the skin. Victor reached down between the bodies wrapping a hand around Roman’s cock, jerking him in time with his own thrusts. Roman gasped beneath him, crying out. “Don’t you fucking stop.” He growled. Victor kept up the pace, his own face pressed into the crook of Roman’s neck, panting against his skin. Roman gasped when he came, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck.  _ Victor _ .”

It was the first time Victor could consciously remember Roman saying his name, and that alone pushed him over the edge. He collapsed after he came, falling limp on top of Roman, as he caught his breath.

“Holy fuck.” Roman laughed, a huffed, breathy thing. “Why did we wait so fucking long to do that?” 

Victor laughed too, propping himself up on his arms to look down at Roman. “It was your call, boss. All you ever had to do was say the word.”

They lay there a moment longer before Roman shifted in discomfort, shoving at Victor’s chest with his hands. “Alright, get off me. You're sweaty.”

Victor narrowly refrained from rolling his eyes but did as he was told, rolling off of Roman to lay beside him on the bed.

Roman sat up then. “I need to shower.”

Victor watched him as he crossed the room in the direction of the ensuite bathroom. “Do you want me here when you get back?”

Roman glanced back at him, frowned for a moment as if considering, then he nodded. “Yeah, but I reserve the right to kick you out if I change my mind.” And then he walked out of the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this is my best chapter but I hope the porn makes up for that


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this is this long... it was only supposed to be a short thing... now it has a whole plot and shit.... god help me.

They didn’t talk about it.

It was fine, really, they didn't need to talk about it. In public things were the same as they’d always been. Roman was distant in public, rarely touched. When he did, it was subtle, a hand on Victor’s lower back, a brush of fingers along the bare skin of his forearm. A quiet whisper of affection, his lips brushing against Victor’s ear in a dark corner of the club.

Victor was always strung along by it, always pulled in by Roman’s magnetism. It was strange, the way his world had come to revolve around Roman Sionis. It was _gravitational._

Most nights, Roman would bring him upstairs after, most nights they would fuck. Fucking was the easy part, it came so naturally; far more naturally than talking. Sometimes Roman got impatient, sometimes he would drag Victor off into some private corner of the club, the VIP space, or his office, even a bathroom stall if he was in a risk-taking mood. Then he would shove Victor back against the wall, bite at his neck, shove him down onto his knees and take what he wanted from him. 

Victor always did what Roman asked, did so with pleasure. He was eager to please, loving the sounds Roman would make, the way his nails would dig into his scalp, holding him close as he came down the back of Victor’s throat.

More nights than not, Victor stayed with Roman, some nights he was in Roman’s bed, other nights he was on the couch, it depended on his boss' mood. 

And they still didn’t talk about it.

Victor found himself prone to being possessive at times. One night in particular was notable, in its extremity. This particular evening, there was a man talking to Roman, he was young, whip thin with neat-groomed black hair and a crooked smile. He was the son of some fucking big-wig Victor hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, either way he was important, and because of that he had to be treated with respect, diplomacy and all that shit. 

Diplomacy was fine and dandy, but this guy was taking it a bit fucking far; leaning into Roman’s space, practically draping himself over the bar, putting his attentions on full fucking display. Ridiculous. He was too close, talking with his hands, occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing his finger over Roman’s arm. He leaned in, whispering something in Roman’s ear. Roman laughed at whatever he said, and Victor clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might break one. By the time the man had wandered away from Roman, Victor was practically vibrating out of his skin.

He watched the man slip out the door, and barely registered that he had started to follow before he found himself abruptly caught by a hand around his forearm. He glanced back to find Roman holding his arm, smiling slyly at him. “Mr. Zsasz, where are you sneaking off to?”

Victor turned, opened his mouth to reply. Roman seemed to notice something was off, his eyes trailing over Victor's face for a moment, flicking to the direction Victor had been walking to, seeming to put the pieces together. He broke out into a devious kind of grin. His grip on Victor’s wrist tightened, and he tugged him along, back into a more private corner of the club where they couldn’t be seen quite so well.

“What’s the matter, baby?” It was the first time Roman had used any sort of term of endearment in reference to him, and Victor’s breath hitched just a little. “You’re not jealous are you?”

Victor said nothing, but he felt his forehead twitch just a little.

“You  _ are _ ?” He stepped close, one hand sliding up Victor’s chest. “Well, that’s pretty fucking rich if you ask me.” He licked his lips. “You don’t need to worry though,  _ trust me _ . He’s not my type, really fucking drab, that one. I like men who are a little more…” he paused, sweeping his gaze over Victor, seeming to search for the word he wanted.  _ Interesting _ . To be honest, I’d fucking kill him if I could, but, you know, bureaucracy and all that. Too many rules about who you can and can’t piss off.” A pause. “Is _ that  _ what you were sneaking off to do?”

Victor ducked his head just a bit. “I didn’t like that he thought he could touch you. He doesn’t deserve to.” A pause. “I’m sorry.” 

Roman glanced around, checking how isolated they were, then he caught Victor’s face in his hand, clutching his jaw and tipping his head back, holding him still so their gazes met. “Don’t fucking apologize.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “I  _ love _ it that you want to look out for me.” His eyes narrowed then. “That being said, I can’t have you killing my guests, at least not without asking me first. It’s bad for business. Is that understood.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Good.” Roman took a step back then. “Now what do you say, we find an excuse to sneak off, hmm? I’ll show you just how little you have to worry about?” 

In that moment, Victor absolutely fucking adored him. 

*****

Victor hadn’t always been like this. Not that it fucking mattered anymore where he’d come from, but there had been a time where he’d passed himself off as normal. Sometimes even as a ‘respectable young man with a bright future’, whatever the fuck that meant. He was pretty sure being the right hand (and fuckbuddy) of a crime boss wasn’t exactly what they’d meant when they’d said ‘bright future’ but then again, this felt an awful lot like having made something of himself.

It didn’t really matter anyway, that he’d gone to school that he’d accrued a fair amount of debt paying for a degree he didn’t fucking care about, not retaining any information past the end of the exams he took. It didn’t matter that he’d gotten a ‘good’ job, and sat at his computer screen day after day wanting to put his fucking fist through it until one day he couldn’t take it anymore, and he’d been summarily fired for snapping his coworker’s wrist on impulse.

He wasn’t surprised when the coworker hadn’t pressed charges, because how could he? They didn’t get paid nearly enough to afford any real legal protections, and anyway, he’d been terrified of Victor after that. Everyone had been.

He’d stopped trying after that, to be normal. Normalcy was like an ill-fitting suit on him, like the hand-me-downs he’d gotten from his foster siblings growing up. It didn’t matter that Victor had ever tried to be one of them, what mattered was that he wasn’t, and that, in light of his current situation, he’d never have to pretend to be again.

Roman gave him that.

Victor didn’t have to hide himself with Roman, and even if he’d tried, Roman wouldn’t have wanted him to. Roman  _ revelled _ in the darkest parts of Victor, stoked the flames of rage and violence in his gut, encouraged it,  _ focused  _ it.

Roman gave Victor purpose beyond what he’d had before. Before, Victor had felt directionless. There was a violence in his chest, of course there was, and he pointed it in whichever direction was closest, he killed simply because he could, and because he liked it, and because there was no fucking reason not to.

Killing for Roman was different, killing for Roman was an animal unto itself. When he killed for Roman, Victor found greater satisfaction than he’d ever found in the taking of life before. When he killed for Roman, the pleasure was twofold. Once in the thrill of the kill itself, and once again in seeing the pleased expression on Roman’s face.

Sometimes -rarely- Roman would kiss him right after, of course, Victor wasn’t allowed to touch him in this moment, bloodstains on expensive suits were a recipe for disaster. But all the same, sometimes his face lit up with pride, with his own possessive kind of affection, and he would claim Victor’s mouth in a kiss before he pulled back, telling Victor to clean up the mess he’d made.

So yes, Victor hadn’t always been like this. He’d tried to be one of them, and he’d fucking hated it. He’d tried to be on his own, and that had felt better, but purposeless. Victor had tried a great many things in his life to find any sense of purpose and none had worked. 

Roman was different. Roman was his purpose. 

******

It was only a matter of time before retaliation came. Strictly speaking, Roman should have known that. But to be fair Roman had been riding a high since the opening of his club, and quite frankly, had become convinced that his success was its own kind of protection. Roman had never been the sort of person to think ahead, or to consider that the situation he was in might be a dangerous one. No, because even if it was, he was Roman fucking Sionis, he always landed on his feet. 

So naturally, he was absolutely certain that he was fine until the exact point that he no longer was.

He was alone when it happened, with Victor preoccupied dispatching some people who had offended Roman’s sensibilities. It had happened too quickly for him to even act, one minute he was standing on the corner smoking a cigarette, and the next some thugs had pulled a fucking bag over his head and he was being tossed into the back of a van. 

It must have been planned, because it was swiftly and effectively executed, and now he lay in the dark listening to the sound of his own breathing. After considering his situation thoroughly, Roman did the only sensible thing he could think of and started yelling.

“Hey what the fuck is going on? Do you know who I fucking am?”

No response, that only further enraged him.

“Just you wait! When I get out of here, I’ll be peeling each of your fucking faces off, one by one and then I’ll make you fucking choke on them. You hear me?”

There was the sound of an expletive from the front seat, and then some muffled conversation between the other men, and then once more there was silence. Roman squirmed, he couldn’t see for the hood on his head, could barely move for the way his hands were bound, the fact that they'd tossed him into the van certainly didn't help either. He shifted with his foot, at the very least he could find something to kick. His heel brushed the wall of the van and then abruptly,  _ violently _ , he was flung across the back of the van, sent rolling into the wall.

“Could you idiots at least learn to fucking  _ drive _ !” He yelled again. No response. Roman kicked the van wall as hard as he could, once and then again, harder when it didn’t make enough noise. “Hey! Fucking  _ listen _ to me when I talk to you!”

He heard something from the front seat that sounded very close to ‘we should have brought a gag’.

Roman kicked the back of the seat. “I can fucking here you. Mark my words, you’ll be the first one to go.”

“Hey! Shut up back there!”

“Why don’t you come back here and make me you fucking  _ mongrel _ .” 

Silence again.

Roman tried a few more times, yelling out to get the attention of the people in the front seat, but eventually he gave up, falling silent, sulking in the darkness of the room. He needed to plot a next step. It would be easier of course, if he could get his bearings without this musty smelling bag over his head like that. God they couldn’t have at least used a clean fucking bag? What was he, a dog? 

Then,  _ finally _ , the van rolled to a stop, there was a moment of silence before he heard the people in the front seat getting out of the car. He waits in silence for them to return, hearing the back door open, and then he was grabbed by his ankles, and yanked to the edge of the trunk. He yelped in surprise, lashed out, struggling to the best of his ability. 

“Hold him for fucks sake.” One of the thugs growled. 

“I’m trying, he’s fucking stronger than he looks!” 

Roman knocked his head back in the direction of the sound, causing the man’s grip to loosen. He sent one hard kick to the other man’s shins, the blow reinforced by the hard soles of his dress-shoes, and then he slipped the grip. He started to run, the problem of course being that he was blind. It was a valiant effort, but it didn’t take long for him to trip, sprawling hard on his chest, unable to catch himself for his hands tied behind his back.

Then there was a weight on his back and a very sharp pain in his neck, and abruptly Roman passed out. 

*****

Things were hazy after that. He saw bits and pieces of things, flashes of light, sounds, felt the sting of a needle in his arm. When he was conscious, he was distinctly aware of how angry he was, but his body was too heavy for him to do much about it.

When he did wake, the first thing Roman was aware of was the bright light over his head, shining down into his eyes. Cold.  _ Familiar _ .

He knew instantly where he was, he’d spent enough fucking time here in his youth, living like a lab rat while they picked out what concoctions would fix him. Different cocktails of viral suppressants and antipsychotics until they found just what worked. It had been kept out of the public eye, ferreted away into a corner where it wouldn’t impact the family reputation.

He wasn’t restrained, that was good at least, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of this any time soon. It was fortified, there was no sense in restraining him. 

He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Hey!” He yelled. “Hey let me the  _ fuck _ out of here!”

There was a long silence, and then a voice came through the speaker mounted on the wall in the corner, one that set his teeth on edge, one he had hoped he’d never fucking hear again.

“There’s no sense in throwing a fit, Roman.” His father chided. “You know this is what’s best for you. Your actions recently have brought to our attention that either you haven’t been treatment isn’t working. We’re only trying to help you, to make you the best man you can be.”

“Like fuck you are! This is just revenge because I blew up your precious fucking factory!”

There was a long pause, Roman wondered if he could actually be heard from outside of the room. “You brought this on yourself, son.” And then there was only silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummm….. somehow this has gotten to the point where the rabies backstory has actually become a plot point? I have lost control of this fic....


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I died and met god last week but here it is

Victor was fucking livid, had been for damn near a fucking week at this point. Roman was missing, had been for longer than Victor would have liked to admit. Roman was really fucking missing, and Victor was terrible at damage control. He’d managed to defer some meetings, distracting from the fact that Roman was actually nowhere to be found by coming up with excuses. He’d run out soon, someone would figure out something was wrong, and then they’d all be well and truly fucked. 

Between that he’d spent his time tearing the city, and more than a few of its occupants, apart. Right now he was in the middle of pulling a man’s fingernails off, the three he’d done so far hadn’t given him the desired response. The bastard still wasn’t giving him the information he needed.

Victor stepped back, put the needle-nosed pliers he’d been using back on the table. “You know, this’d go better for you if you just told me what I need to know.” 

“Fuck you!” It was a lot weaker then he’d meant it to sound, and that in itself brought a smile to Victor’s lips.

“Suit yourself.” He picked up a larger, sturdier pair of pliers. “I was thinking about moving on to teeth next. How’s that sound? Good?” The man started to scream, but Victor caught his chin, three fingers hooking behind his bottom teeth, forcing open his jaw. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun, you and me.”

*****

Three hours later, Victor was rinsing the blood off his hands. He finally had a fucking lead. He’d killed the man when he was done, of course he had. Couldn’t let the dumb piece of shit go blabbing, could he? Still, now he knew where Roman was, and now he could start planning. There would be a lot of security, but that wouldn’t stop him. Victor would tear every single one of those motherfuckers to shreds if it meant getting Roman back.

He thought about this as he made the mark for the man he’d just killed. There was a small collection of relatively fresh ones on his right shoulder now, he’d killed a lot of people this week. And he was about to kill a lot fucking more. 

******

Roman had no idea how long it’d been. There were no clocks in the room, and no windows, and the overhead light remained, white and glaring at all hours. He could make some estimations, based on the times that food came through, slid on a tray in a hatch in the door, but keeping count wasn’t easy.

Mostly, he slept, and he fumed, and he punched the wall until he fists bled even though he knew it wouldn’t do him any fucking good. Still, he didn’t have a lot of options. 

It might have been the third day when his head started to feel like it was on fire. Again, it was hard to tell, his sense of time was pretty far off, and the more time he spent in the room, the worse that sense became. 

The headache and the sweating started around the same time, he recognized them both, even after all these years, he needed his fucking pills. This would only keep getting worse without them. 

Now he sat with his head between his knees, he’d been wearing the same suit since he’d got here, the fuckers hadn’t even had the common courtesy to bring him a change of clothes. And god his head was on fucking  _ fire. _

The voice came through the speaker again, just as it did every day. “Are you willing to cooperate yet, Roman?” 

He kept his head down for a long moment, the light was too bright, made fireworks burst behind his eyes. “Fuck off.” He grumbled, the sound muffled by his legs.

“You’re going to have to speak up. I thought I raised you better than to mumble.” 

He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the overhead lights. “I said fuck  _ off _ ! I’m not cooperating with shit.”

A long silence. “Suit yourself. You’ll come around.” 

Two days later he woke waist deep in water, rising rapidly around him. He pounded on the door, screaming, begging for someone to let him get out of there. The water reached his neck, engulfed him completely and abruptly, Roman blacked out. 

He woke up on the floor, completely dry except the sheen of his own sweat, and he sat shivering for a long moment. If he was having hallucinations that meant he’d be dead in days without intervention.

“Alright.” He said finally. “Whatever you want! Just give me my fucking pills.” 

There was no response, he hadn’t honestly expected one. 

An hour later when the sliding food tray came through, there was a small paper cup. In it were two pills, perfectly identical. He was sure there was a trick, but Roman took both pills regardless, there was no sense in risking it. 

He was hardly surprised when he felt his head go foggy, and then for the second time that day, he passed out on the linoleum floor. 

*****

When Roman woke, it was back in bed, though this time he was dressed in a hospital ground, Hideous, mint green. That coupled with the fluorescent lighting did nothing for his complexion. It probably didn’t help that he was on the verge of death, technically speaking, but still. 

The second thing he noticed was the IV drip attached to his arm. Antivirals no doubt, but something else as well, something that made his head feel like cotton. It took him a moment, but he remembered the feeling. Those goddamn antipsychotics they’d had him on as a kid to keep him from ‘acting out’. He hadn’t touched the things in years. 

Time passed even more strangely after that. Once a day, a man would come in to talk to him, some shrink in a series of hideous tweed suits, his hairline steadily crawling back from his forehead. He’d ask his bullshit questions, advise Roman on his supposed delusions, and Roman would cooperate, because otherwise they’d take his meds away. 

“I’m going to kill you, you know.” Roman watched the man with a curled lip. “First chance I get. It’s really only a matter of time. You should get a will together.”

The shrink shook his head. “That’s the third day in a row you’ve threatened me, Mr. Sionis. You have a lot of anger, have you considered that it’s misdirected.”

Roman laughed at that. “Oh, I  _ know _ it’s misdirected. I  _ want _ to kill my father, but he’s not so easy to get my hands on. I’m  _ going _ to kill you because I need to kill someone, and conveniently, here you are.” At least he had the audacity to look a little nervous as he scribbled something down in that fucking notebook of his. 

The shrink opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of an alarm. The man looked more than a little nervous. 

Roman frowned. “That’s new.” 

The shrink looked really fucking nervous now. Roman couldn’t help getting his hopes up just a bit, maybe Zsasz had finally found him. 

Roman sat back, cocked his head to one side, waited. The shrink wasn’t looking at him anymore. He eyed the needle in his arm, eyed the cuff which kept him fastened to the hospital bed and he waited. 

“Hello?” The man spoke into the walkie-talkie he always had, the one he always spoke into before being let out of Roman’s cell. 

The sound of indistinct screaming came through the other side of the line, and the shrink’s face paled. He yelled into the device again, but this time there was nothing. The shrink turned away, distracted, he yelled into the camera. “Hey! What the hell’s going on out there!” 

Roman leaned down, catching the IV cord between his teeth and pulling. He tried to restrain the hiss in his breath as the needle pulled out of his skin a little blood welling out of the wound. He pulled it up, catching it in his free hand, of course they’d left one free, always fucking underestimating him.

He maneuvered it into the lock, he’d gotten fairly good at picking locked doors as a kid, his father locking him up all the time like that. A handcuff lock was much simpler than a door.

He moved quietly, they’d taken his shoes, that helped him stay silent. Roman slunk across the the span of the room, got close behind the man, and then, with all the strength he could muster, grabbed the other man’s head and slammed it into the wall. 

The shrink cried out, fell to the ground in a daze, and Roman held the handcuff open in his hand, revealing the jagged portion of it. He looked up at the camera, practically beaming. “I know you’re still watching, Dad.” He licked his lips. “Well fucking watch this.”

*****

It was times like this that it got difficult to count. Not that Victor minded a good massacre now and again, in fact, he fucking revelled in it. Nothing got his blood pumping like slicing through body after body, letting them fall down around him. There was something truly fucking invigorating, but the math of it all was miserable 

Hard to hold a number in his mind when he was so thoroughly preoccupied. Still, he thought, as he pulled a knife out of number eight’s jugular, jabbing it back into the abdomen of number nine, it was a skill that he’d gotten quite good at. 

The man behind him collapsed, clutching his gut, gurgling as blood rolled up in his throat, falling from his lips. He clutched at Victor’s ankle as he tried to walk, and Victor glanced back, his top lip curling with distaste before he drove his boot hard into the man’s face, once, twice, a third time, caving bone beneath the steel reinforced heel. 

Above him, the alarm continued to blare, flashing lights illuminating his bloodstained face in red and blue, and Victor smiled, stepping over the corpse at his feet and continuing on down the hallway. 

*****

Killing a man with a pair of handcuffs was messier than he would have liked, and much harder. Blunt fucking things weren’t easy to stab into a man’s jugular, but he’d gotten it done in the end. 

There’d be guards in there soon, through the door he could hear a commotion, screaming, gunshots. Someone was here. Roman’s heart raced at the thought that it just might be Victor, his Victor, here to save him. He just had to outlast the onslaught of guards.

He pressed himself back against the wall, and he waited, and when the door slid open and the first guard came in, he lunged. 

He caught the handcuff chain around the man’s throat, pulling back. The man cried out, struggled to pull away, but Roman clung tight, locking the cuffs together and pulling harder, hanging himself off the back of another man. 

The guard moved back, slamming them both back against the wall, it knocked the wind out of him, but he held fast, adjusting his hold, wrapping his forearm around the man’s throat. He held tight, clung until the man started to go limp under him. When he felt the guard’s knees start to weak he let go, letting himself fall to the ground. While the guard was down, Roman crawled across the floor, still catching his own breath from being thumped against the wall. 

There wasn’t much in the room that could be weaponized, most things were screwed to the ground, of course. But then there was the pole of the IV drip. He dragged himself to his feet, grabbing hold of the pole, it wasn’t as heavy as he would have liked but it would do the job. 

He could hear more footsteps coming, more guards coming in his direction. He gripped the pole hard enough that his knuckles went white, with the grip as he crossed the room to the fallen form of the first guard. 

******

When he finally got into the room where Roman was kept, Victor was almost startled by the carnage.  _ Almost _ . It took a lot of carnage to startle Victor Zsasz. Still, there was a lot of fucking blood. 

And in the corner was Roman, blood soaked, dressed in hospital shrugs, hunched over the body of the guard. There were four bodies in the room, though very little of the blood seemed to be Roman’s own. At the sound of Victor’s footsteps, Roman’s head snapped up, his eyes were wild and there was blood on his face, around his mouth, as if… 

It was then Victor noticed that the throat had been torn out of the body he was crouched over. 

“Hey, boss.” Victor moved slowly, almost cautiously, not familiar with the look in Roman’s eye. “Boss? It’s me. It’s Zsasz. Your Zsasz.”

Roman’s eyes cleared just a bit after that. “ _ Victor _ .” It fell from his lips like a whisper, almost reverential. And then he was on his feet, lunging forward. Victor almost flinched, unsure of what was coming, and then Roman threw his arms around him, burying his face in the side of Victor’s neck, a choked sob falling from him. “What took you so long?” 

Victor laughed, near breathless, and held him closer. Roman was shaking, panting against the side of his neck, blood sticky on his skin. “Sorry boss. You weren’t fucking easy to find.” He pressed a kiss to Roman’s forehead. “But I’m here now.” He pulled back. “Now, we need to get the fuck out of here alright? Let’s get you home safe.”

Roman nodded, and allowed Victor to pull him to his feet. Getting out was a lot easier than getting in, on account of all the guards being dead between the two of them. Roman was silent all the way out, stayed silent in the back of the car all the way back to the club. 

Roman was silent all the way home, his eyes squeezed tight shut, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was paler than Victor had ever seen him, and he seemed to shake just slightly.

He stayed quiet when they got back to the apartment, went immediately, quietly to the shower. Victor waited, stripped off his own bloodied clothes, went to wash up in the guest bathroom, using a cloth to clean himself up. 

When he was finished, he walked back out into the main room, Roman was sitting on the bed in his robe, starring at the wall. 

“Boss?”

Roman snapped out of his stupour at that, his eyes falling on Victor’s face. “Come here.” He said after a moment.

Victor did, found himself being pulled down, kissed. It was went how they usually were, it was slow, and close, his hands coming up to cup Victor’s face, keeping him close. When they broke apart, he pulled him close, nearly dragging him onto the bed, burying his face in Victor’s neck. 

He was still shaking just a bit, and Victor said nothing, just lay in his back and held him. “It’s alright now.” He murmured running his fingers through Romans hair. “I won’t let anyone fucking touch you again, you hear? You’re safe now.” 

Roman pulled him closer but said nothing. 

*****

It took a few days for Roman to come back into himself after that. He was different than Victor had seen him before, pale and hollow eyed, and  _ quiet.  _ That was what through him of the most. Roman Sionis was never  _ quiet,  _ He’s never shut up for more than five minutes at a time as long as Victor has known him. 

Now he barely spoke. 

When he finally did start to speak again, it was as if a dam had broken. It was well past three am and Roman rolled over and started talking and simply didn’t stop. He told Victor everything that had happened, and Victor listened and he seethed, rage burning bright in his chest at the thought that anyone had dared laid hands on Roman. On  _ his _ Roman.

“I’ll fucking kill him.” Victor said finally. 

Roman just shook his head. “You can’t kill my father, Victor, as much as I’d like it, it’s not feasible.” 

“I can kill whoever I want to.” 

“No, you can kill whoever  _ I  _ want you to.” He caught Victor’s chin in his hand as he said it, his eyes cold. “And I’m telling you  _ not  _ to, so you fucking  _ won’t _ , is that clear?”

Victor’s lips pulled back from his teeth in some semblance of a smile.  _ There  _ was the Roman he knew so well. “Yeah alright, sorry boss.” 

“Good, just because I was gone for a while doesn’t mean you get to forget who’s in charge. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see the bastard skinned alive, but I can’t have you getting caught.... can’t have them taking you away from me.”

Victor was quiet for a long moment after that, he wasn’t really sure what to say in situations like this, emotions weren’t exactly his forte. Finally he spoke. “It’s not really the same but, I spent a few months at Arkham a while back.” 

Roman frowned at him, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You’ve never mentioned it.” 

Victor shrugged. “Never saw the point, I’m not there anymore am I?” 

“How’d you get out?” 

Victor grinned. “How d’you think?” 

Roman smiled a little at that. “Why am I not surprised.” 

“But what I’m saying is that….” Victor trailed off, fuck, he was bad at this. “I get it, that shit’ll fuck you up, it’s like—”

Roman held up a hand, putting a finger to Victor’s lips. “Stop talking, you’re terrible at it.” He leaned closer, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a sly smirk. “You want to help? How about you start by fucking me so good I can’t think anymore?”

Victor grinned. “I can do that, yeah.”

“There’s a good boy.” Roman murmured and kissed him hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is gonna be wrapping things up, epilogue sort of thing I think?


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, sorry it took me so long to actually wrap this up, love you all so much, thank you for bearing with me <3 <3 <3

It was strange, falling back into the way things had been after that. Roman was always just a little off, as though some of his arrogance had been obfuscated by what had happened to him. He was harsher now, colder around the edges, quicker to that kind of explosive violence. Victor had to admit he liked it, he’d always liked the more dangerous side of Roman and was glad to see more of it. 

It doesn’t take Victor long to catch Roman up on what’s been going on while he was away. There wasn’t all that much going on, business had been steady, and they’d worked hard to keep Roman’s as much of a secret as was conceivably possible given the circumstances. With that being said, some rival criminals had began to push in at the edges and a strong statement needed to be made. 

The statement in question was, of course, a massacre that had Victor adding a large number to his tally. But it certainly was well received. 

Eventually the dust starts to settle, and Roman falls back into his previous role.

He keeps Victor closer after that, on an even tighter leash than he had previously. Victor doesn’t mind. He likes being close to Roman, gets antsy whenever the man is too far from him. It’s only natural when Victor moves in, he hadn’t been spending much time at his shitty old apartment before anyway. 

They don’t share a room, Roman likes his space far too much for that. That’s fine for Victor, he can leave his own room a mess, since Roman never goes in there anyway. Sex is always in Roman’s room, and if they do share a bed -if Roman is in the mood for that- they always sleep in Roman’s bed, with Roman reserving the right to kick Victor out at any point.

There was also the matter of Gotham’s newest vigilante protector. 

Roman had actually laughed at that, when Victor told him about it. “So you’re telling me I’m gone for two weeks and some shithead in a bat costume and tights starts going around beating up criminals? Are you fucking with me?” 

Victor just shrugged. “I told you it was fucked.” 

“Fucking hell.” Roman smiled like a shark. “Well, I’m not scared of some fucking freak with a leather fetish. Bring it. I’ve got you, don’t I?” 

Victor had wrapped an arm around the back of Roman’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Yeah boss. You’ve always got me.” 


End file.
